


Not Today

by blindedbyangst



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arya Stark-centric, Canon Divergence - War of The Five Kings, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Non-Canonical Character Death, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:28:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25053160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindedbyangst/pseuds/blindedbyangst
Summary: The events that transpired when Arya of House Stark was unable to escape Joffrey's wrath.Originally written as a roleplay solo.
Relationships: Arya Stark & Ned Stark, Arya Stark & Sansa Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	Not Today

It was sunny outside. That was the first thing Arya Stark noticed as the guards led herself and her father out of the Black Cells.

It was warm.

Despite Syrio’s best efforts to give her time to run, the little wolf had been caught by a singular gold cloak, who managed to get past her mentor before she’d been able to get out of the Red Keep.

It must have been moons since she’d spat in Joffrey’s face and denounced his cruelty, in defence of her father. Moons since she had been thrown into the black cells, with her father there by her side.

Moons since she had seen the sunlight.

There had been rumours that Robb had called the banners. Sansa had written as much, in her clearly controlled letter, begging her father to denounce treason and take the black and for her sister to join the silent sisters. Assured them that Joffrey had promised mercy so long as they swore fealty to him and denounced the treasonous claims that had placed them in this position to begin with. Bend the knee and all would be well.

Her father should have known better than to trust the boy that had imprisoned them and abused her sister.

In front of the Sept of Baelor, her father had sworn fealty to Joffrey, admitted to the crimes and begged the Gods to forgive him and his daughter. Joffrey had called for Arya to do the same, but the girl could barely hold herself up, let alone project her voice enough to be heard by the crowds, something that she assumed the boy King must have known due to the devilish smirk on his lips. Despite the struggle, Arya did the same, held closely by her father the entire time. She thought that would be it. That Joffrey would let them go, pardon their crimes and they could go back home to Winterfell. Joffrey’s words broke that hope in moments.

“My mother wishes me to let Lord Eddard join the Nights Watch and Lady Arya the Silent Sisters, stripped of all titles and powers, they would serve the realm in permanent exile. And my Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father and sister.”

The silence afterwards was what told Arya that Joffrey had other plans.

“But they have the soft hearts of women. So long as I am your King, treason shall never go unpunished. Ser Illyn, call for the gallows to rise, the traitors hang at noon tomorrow!”

Sansa’s screams had not left her mind since then, even as she and her father were pulled apart and thrown back into the darkness of the Black Cells. It seems that Joffrey deemed mercy for them to be hung and not beheaded as was usually done to traitors of the crown. Mercy stretched to her being housed in the same cell as her father, though it did not feel like a mercy.

Her father was a strong man; she had never seen him cry.

Not until this day.

Granted, the wolf pup could not visibly see her father’s tears, but the sound was enough. Lord Eddard’s strong arms didn’t leave her even as many different people came down to the cells to see them.

The High Septon came first, alongside Grand Maester Pycelle, calling upon them to repent their sins before the Seven so that they may still hope to reach one of the Seven Heavens rather than be trapped for eternity in the Seven Hells. They didn’t leave until Lord Varys practically pushed them out, all while questioning what in the name of the Gods made them think that Starks who followed the Old Gods would repent before the Seven.

Varys eventually returned to offer his condolences, bread and water with him after one of his little birds had twittered that there would be no food provided to the condemned. Those in Kings Landing could never be trusted, but Arya was grateful for this kindness at least. Her throat had been dry since Joffrey had decided their fate.

Next was Little Finger, who her father was not entirely pleased to see, after being betrayed by the man. Still, Petyr Baelish knew how to weasel his way around problems, speaking apologetically, and promising Ned that there would be someone coming to spirit Arya away from the city. Only Arya. A sound that could only be described as a growl left Arya at the notion of leaving her father behind. The Lone Wolf dies. She wasn’t going to split up the pack, even though she knew her own fate.

The final person to be allowed to visit was Sansa, her elder sister, shadowed by The Hound. The hoarseness of her sister’s voice spoke for itself. Even though she could not see her tear stained face, Sansa had clearly been sobbing, something that started up again the moment she grasped Arya’s thin fingers in one hand and Eddard’s in the other. Promises that she would convince Joffrey otherwise, that she wouldn’t let them die, words that their father had to shut down, telling his eldest girl to be brave and get word to Robb and Catelyn as soon as possible. It was his way of saying goodbye. Arya found herself telling her sister to not leave her chambers tomorrow, which Sansa quickly denied. Her sister promised to be there. She was going to be there; she wouldn’t leave them to die under the eyes of murderers and traitors. That was the first time Arya recalled telling her sister that she loved her.

It would be the last time too.

They had been roused close to noon, the guards making every attempt to restrain them separately, only realising that that would not work when Arya’s knees buckled under her own weight and her father insisted on carrying her himself. Chaining their hands together was the only way they could restrain them properly, alongside Ned’s ankles, though Arya hardly noticed the extra weight added to her wrist. Her father had been holding her left hand the entire night, that was the only thing she could focus on.

The sunlight and warmth wasn’t welcoming. It was as if they were stepping into an oven. Lions thrived in the southern heat; wolves didn’t.

She couldn’t see much more than sunlight, her father had been doing his best to advert her gaze from the gallows ahead of them for as long as possible, but Arya could hear the crowds screaming and yelling at them. Most of it was too jumbled for Arya to hear but she could make out some things.

“Hang them!”

“Traitorous bitch!”

“Murderers!”

The creaking of the steps underneath them was sign enough for Arya that they’d reached their final destination. Her father couldn’t hide her eyes any longer, still holding her close in his arms all the while, so Arya looked. She had seen gallows before, many moons ago, they had been erected in Wintertown for the execution of some rapists who had chosen to not take the black. Back then, they had not been this terrifying. Two nooses tied at the same height. It made her question how they expected her to reach that height to begin with. The barrel set by the edge answered her question before it could be vocalised.

Behind them was were Sansa was stood, beside Cersei and Joffrey and the members of the Small Council. Her sister wore a face of bravery, one that could rival Queen Nymeria, despite the situation. Cersei Lannister was unreadable, as always, stoic and calm, whereas her sadist son wore a grin, one you would see on a child who had been praised, not on a king who had sentenced a girl of the same age as his sister to death.

There was no real time to look at the other faces, for a guard went to take Arya from her father’s arms, something that Ned was visibly distressed by, but couldn’t prevent. He held onto her hand the entire time, something that could not be stopped thanks to the cuffs holding her left and his right wrists together. A mistake on their part but one that could not be rectified now.

Legs shaking as she was lifted onto the barrel, Arya heard her father speak to her, over the crowd’s taunting.

“Be brave, my girl. I am right here; I will not let go.”

Rope being adjusted around her neck tore all thoughts of being brave away for but a moment.

She was Arya of House Stark, a descendent of Northern Kings and Queens. The North would remember the injustice done on them by Joffrey Baratheon, and she would die bravely here today, by her father’s side. She would not give the blonde bastard the satisfaction of seeing her afraid.

Silence fell in the crowd and Arya could only assume that Joffrey had risen to speak.

“People of Westeros. You have come here today for the first of what will be many ends to the lives of those who wish to undermine me, your king! I am sure you have heard of the Northern Savages and their rebellion, led by the traitorous Starks and the equally disgusting betrayal of not one, but both of my father’s brothers and the Greyjoys choosing to join the fray as well! Well, known now, that as your King, I will not allow traitorous acts to ever go unpunished. This may be the first of many executions in front of this holy place, but now that with each one, we come closer to peace for all of Westeros!”

The grip on her hand tightened and Arya found herself turning her gaze towards her father, who offered her a small smile, a reassurance that it would all be alright. False hopes to keep his youngest daughter calm.

The wolf pup hoped that he knew how thankful she was to have been his daughter.

Joffrey’s words cut through her thoughts, the crowd once again going silent.

“Ser Illyn, if you will.”

Arya’s mind ran to her father. Then her mother and Robb, who had begun a war to bring them home. Bran, who would never walk again. Rickon, her sweet little brother who would likely never remember her face. Sansa, who hadn’t cried out yet, who had been so brave, so much braver than Arya could ever hope to be. Jon, who had gone to the wall with their Uncle Benjen. All the faces she would see daily back at Winterfell, most of them dead after choosing to remain loyal to them. Mycah, who had been murdered on Joffrey’s order. Lady, who had died in place of her sister, Nymeria. Syrio.

Syrio Forel, her dancing master. The man who had taught her how to fight, who had sacrificed his own life to try and save hers.

Grey eyes following the sunlight, above the crowd, her mentor’s words echoed in Arya’s mind as the world seemed to slow.

‘What do we say to the God of Death?’

Arya’s eyes scrunched closed, her grip on her father’s hand tight.

“Not today.”

The floor fell from underneath her and it was all over.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea that has been nagging me for days so I went and wrote it. There was no way, in my mind, that Joffrey would have left Arya alive if she hadn't escaped him, so I tried to write how I thought it would play out! Reviews and constructive criticism are appreciated!


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